


Doppelgänger

by PaleNoFace



Series: Tree Bros Adventures [2]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Connor (Dear Evan Hansen) is a Mess, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Deserves To Rest, Evan (Dear Evan Hansen) is a Nervous Wreck, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, I just want them to be happy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jared Doesn't Deal Well With His Death, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Multi, Neither Does Evan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Please Someone Save Them, Protective Connor, Slow To Update, Suicide Attempt, connor needs therapy, this is just me taking care of my son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleNoFace/pseuds/PaleNoFace
Summary: Connor enters an alternate dimension and learns that maybe, just maybe, people care about him.





	1. Connor Finally Dies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doppelgänger (dɒp(ə)lˌɡaŋə,ˈdɒp(ə)lˌɡɛŋə), n. : An apparition or double of a living person.

_Have you ever felt like nobody was there ?_

 

Connor lands on a pile of dirty laundry and hits his head against a wall - or maybe it's a door, he doesn't really know. He's sore, everything hurts, and he kind of feels like he has been rolled on by a steamroller. The fog in his head clears as he sits, but a wave of nausea hits him and he remembers : the freak's letter, the yells, his anger becoming too much, the pills popping out at the perfect moment and then... The blackout. But here he is again, while he should not. So why ? Why is he still alive ?

 

_Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere ?_

 

He groans. His throat is aching so bad right now. He remembers swallowing all the pills at once, but it clearly isn't as efficient as he thought. Otherwise he would be pretty dead. Or is he ? He feels like a zombie so maybe, after all, he's gone for good. But he's breathing; he can feel his pulse under the skin of his throat; he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. So maybe, just maybe, he failed. 

 

_Have you ever felt like you could disappear ?_

 

He IS alive. Somehow. There is no way afterlife is THIS real. So he missed. Again. What is it, the seventh time ? Connor disappoints himself at this point. Not even able to kill himself properly. It's almost comical, like Someone doesn't want him Upstairs. Zoe would laugh at him. His parents would look away, as ever. Kids at school would probably know, because Zoe is the kind of girl who can't fucking mind her own fucking business. This family is shit. He is shit, too. Maybe the two are linked. Connor swallows back a sob as he gets up to make a point about where he currently is. 

 

_Like you could fall, and no one would hear ?_

 

It looks like a room. Actually, it looks like his room - a lot. He swears to God if all of this crap was just a weird dream... He wobbles on his feet, his head throbbing. He doesn't even remember falling near the drawer. He needs to sleep right now. Things will be clearer tomorrow, he decides. Fortunately, he will find out why it didn't work this time either.

 

"What the fuuuuuuck."

 

Connor stiffens. He isn't the one who said that. His brain, a little slow, concludes two seconds after that he's not alone and that, in fact, there is someone else in the room. His vision blurrs and he leans on his desk as a flash of pain crosses his head.

 

"Wha... What the actual fuck."  
"Hey, I asked first."

 

The... person, or whatever is sitting on the bed with an half-smoked joint in hand, is looking at him. And looking like him. This is so strange. Connor feels like looking at his own reflexion, but blurry. Is he crying or is the pain in the head that makes everything strange and confused ?

 

"My weed can't be THIS strong, can it ?" the other Connor mumbles, no longer focused on the Connor standing in the middle of the room.  
"I don't give a fuck about your weed, man ! Who are you and why are you in here ?" Actual-Connor almost yells.  
"What do you mean ?" Other-Connor says, taken aback. "The real question here is who are YOU and what YOU're doing here !"  
"Uuuuh I'm in my room ? The room where I just tried to kill myself a few hours ago ?"  
"Uuuuh I don't think so ! You know what ? Forget it ! I don't give a fuck about who you are and why you look just like me, just get the hell out before I scream !" Other-Connor jolts up with an angry scowl.

 

The blurr is intense in Actual-Connor's head and he has to sit down now or either way he will fall. He curls up on the carpet and tries to calm his breath, but it's too late. Panic attack. Other-Connor just frowns and reaches for him. Some people aren't okay with touch during panic attacks, but Connor needs it. He needs to know what is real, that the world is real and the people are real and the feels are real because he's falling deep inside of himself and...

 

Other-Connor eventually wraps his arms around him, preventing him from shaking. And slowly, he comes back among the live. He's still alive. With an evil twin helping him to breathe. Everything is almost normal. Actual-Connor takes ten more minutes to make sure but, no joke, everything is real. He releases the tension, makes sure to breath correctly - or, at least, enough to not faint in Other-Connor's arms.

 

"There, buddy, inspire one two three block four five six seven expire eight nine ten inspire... Better ?"  
"...Kinda. Thanks."  
"Didn't want to be so rough. I'm still high. Sorry. What about we do that again in the civilized way ?"  
"Won't be the strangest thing of my whole day."  
"But first, I'm not high enough for this shit yet. Want some ?"

 

Connor acquiesces and follows Other-Connor on the bed.


	2. We Meet Enzo And Eva.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double (ˈdʌb(ə)l) : A person who looks exactly like another.

So apparently this isn't his home and this isn't his room, because this is the Other-Connor's home and room. It's almost the same, really, except for a few details. For example, Other-Connor is not a Connor, but a Connie. Like, almost Connor, but not, because it's a girl. With breasts, ("bless the creator of binders"), vagina ("such a pain in the ass, literally"), larger eyes and checkbones a little bit flatter. And a heavier addiction to weed than he has. Long story short, he's talking to a female version of himself who's very, very high and suspiciously not surprised to find a double of herself in her room. Which ends to creep Connor out. Connie, on the other hand, even if creepy on the edges, is very nice to talk to. She gets it. She knows how he feels and she knows that he's scared and cold and alone and for once Connor has the impression to be listened to. And maybe it's because Connie is kind of him, or maybe it's because she's actually listening to him and talking to him like a regular human being, but Connor isn't ashamed to share. It feels right. Normal. They fall asleep at four in the morning, and none of them do care about school the next day. Because this is way more important.

 

The reality quickly catches up quickly because the next morning, unfortunately, they are woken up a loud knock at the room's door, and someone yelling :

 

"Con, we're gonna be late !"

 

Connor jolts ups, desoriented, spits out a lock of hair he was chewing on and takes a moment to remember where he is. Connie crushes a pillow over her head and groans, as the pounding on the door doesn't stop :

 

"Fuck ooooooff."  
"Con, please," the voice whines on the other side of the door in a very annoying way. "You said you would drive me to school today."

 

Connor is still sleepy and has now a thrilling headache, but he raises on one elbow to stare angrily at the door. He's about to get up and tell whoever is there to knock it off and let them sleep because they had a damn long night, but next to him Connie grabs his arm and mumbles from under the pillow "don't open, you'll give him an occasion to piss us off". A feminine voice comes suddently from downstairs :

 

"Connie, be nice to your brother !"  
"You heard Mom, Con, move your fat ass."

 

Connie suddently throws herself out of bed, opens the door, tackles the person behind who yelps, surprised, and slam the door back.

 

"FUCK YOU !" whoever-is-behind-the-door shrieks.

 

Connor just looks at Connie with a tired face. He wants to go back to sleep, he wants to talk again with her, he want to eat something and maybe take a shower. Instead, he sits and ask :

 

"Lemme guess. Your version of Zoe."  
"The name's Enzo," Connie huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose and eventually starts to pick some random clothes. "He's a brat and a Mom's Boy™. Tch. Whatever."  
"Whatever," Connor repeats. He adds, after a few seconds, "I just realized. Nobody knows I'm here. What are we gonna tell the parents ?"  
"What do you think ? You don't have to meet them, and believe me, you don't want to."  
"Yeah, I kinda have the same at home," Connor grunts.  
"You probably want to change, though. Hopefully, we should have the same size."

 

She throws a black sweater at him with a black shirt and a pair of grey jeans, telling him that with a bit of luck everything is clean, then leaves to go and change in the bathroom. Connor huffs. He didn't tried to suicide to go back to school the next day, but does he have a choice ? He changes in the fresh clothes, feeling oddly better. Then he looks down at the shirt and laughs. There is a rainbow gun on it, and "Can't aim straight" written under it. Good, at least the most important things don't change from one dimension to another. Connie is back, dressed with a torn jean and a black hoodie that looks three sizes too big. They start to think of something to make him leave the house without being noticed. It basically ends with Connie making a tantrum in the kitchen while Connor goes literally through the window and waits for her on the backseat of the car, because of course Connie thought of leaving him the keys. Eventually Connie storms out of the house, Enzo in her steps and Connor can finally see the male equivalent of his sister.

 

As expected, Enzo is very, very similar to Zoe. A round face with still enough chubbiness to look innocent, clear eyes and light brown, short hair. He looks like an angel. A furious angel, at the moment, but still. The reversed Murphys climb in the car, slam the doors and don't move, until Connie suddently punches the wheel with her tight fists with and lets out a frustrated groan. Enzo jumps on his seat, startled, but clenches his jaw and says nothing. He clearly fears his sister but still tries to hide it. Connor wonders if Zoe looked at him the same way, back in his universe. The thought makes his heart sink. Neither him nor Connie are good persons. He knows it, but it's still painful to see it. Connie takes a few deep breathes and looks at the backseat, directly at him.

 

"Con, give me the keys. Sooner I'm away from this house better I feel."

 

As he graciously obeys, Enzo turns around and his clenched jaw drops. His eyes make a few backs and forths between the Con he knows and the new one, the male version of his sister quietly sitting on the backseat of the car, glaring back at him with an unimpressed look.

 

"Wh- How- What ?!" is all he can be drawn from him. Both Cons sigh.  
"Just tell yourself that you're dreaming, kid."

 

Enzo swings back to Connie who has already turned on the car and is leading them out of the driveway, in direction of their high school. She shrugs.

 

"He popped in my room last night saying that he was me from an alternate universe."  
"I didn't said that, you came out with this theory," Connor mumbles, his knees drawn on his chest, looking out by the window. "Even if it's probably the best lead we have."  
"And so I decided to keep him," Connie concludes flatly.

 

When Connor focuses his attention back on what is happening in the car, he meet Enzo's incredulous look and automatically gives him the finger. The younger boy turns red and fixes his eyes back on the road. Connor isn't proud of himself, but the way Enzo acts is getting under his skin. He wonders if Connie already hitted him in the past. Probably. From what she told him, she has anger issues too and feels miserable about it, too. Neither of the two shows it.

 

They finally reach the school and Enzo quickly slips out of the car as if staying another minute in it with them will lead him to a certain death. Connie rubs her eyes. Connor's stomach growls as he climbs in the passenger seat. She glances at him.

 

"My first class is only in twenty minutes. I need coffee, what about you ?"  
"Same. And sugar. Like, a lot. Can't keep my eyes open."  
"Who do you say," she snorts, and engage the reverse gear. A few minutes later, she stops at a decrepit shop and get out of the car. Connor watches the street, trying to pass the time. There are only a few people wandering on this monday morning. An old lady with a zimmer, a bunch of students with oversized cups of coffee, a man in a fancy suit pushing a stroller while talking to the phone and a girl around his age slowly walking down the street.

He huffs. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to have to breathe or blink or be alive and he doesn't want to be high to be able endure the world outside of his head and worst of all he doesn't want to go to school, but he knows he doesn't have a choice. He can't try to off himself again - _yet_. What if he lands in a way less friendly universe ? He needs to learn from every experience. At least here he's not forced to deal directly with people. Well, except for Connie and Enzo, but hey. Mistakes have been made. At least, he won't be forced to go in classes he doesn't even care about. He won't be forced to be silent and still for hours. And he won't be forced into social interaction. Probably.

 

Connie climbs back into the car, handing him over a rather large cup of black coffee and two sugar sachets. Perfect. He swallows down half of his cup in one gulp, burning his whole mouth in the process, but goddammit. It feels so good. He feels good. He decides that he will stay alive at least until his next cup of coffee. Connie winces as he absorbs the other half in a few seconds.

 

"Stop it. Seriously, it's painful to watch."

 

Connor giggles, _actually giggles_ , and lick the last drop on the edge of the paper cup. Sugar. Sugar is the answer to every question, ever. He crumbles it in his fist and leans back on the seat, closing his eyes as Connie sips silently her own beverage. He's still hungry, though. Not enough to make it known, but it reminds him that he didn't eat since the morning before. Wait, is it even accurate to say "the day before" while in another dimension ? Probably not.

Connie puts her own cup on the floor behind them, turns on the car and retreats without watching. Connor's eyes suddently burst open and he grabs the wheel in a desperate reflex. Connie screams and brakes hard. Then there is a silence as they both look at the small girl standing right in front of the car. Her eyes are wide, full of tears. There is no color on her face anymore. She's shaking and seems about to faint, her breath heavy. Connor has a pang in the chest as he reconizes her.

 

"Hansen," he mutters.

 

Connie is already out of the vehicle and rushes towards her, screaming :

 

"Ev ! Eva, oh my God ! I almost... Shit shit shit, are you okay ?! You could have been hurt !"

 

She grasps her hands and squeezes, slowly bringing her back to their plane of existence. They both look like they just saw their lives flashing before their eyes and Connor doesn't know what to do. They almost knocked her. They almost hit Eva Hansen, the double of Evan Hansen, the creepy kid in his school that made him flip. Something cold and angry settles in his stomach and he doesn't know how to make it leave. It feels like he's about to punch something, preferably someone, and preferably Hansen. The male Hansen, not this one, because Connie seems strangely caring about this small girl in deep blue skirt, stripped shirt and... Cast. The sight of big black letters on white plaster makes him cringe. He was very high when he did it to Evan and he's not sure if he wants to know if the other Con was too writing on this one.

 

Eva eventually seems to regain enough consciousness to be lead the backseat. Connor turns around to watch her more in detail. She kinda looks like a ghost, he thinks, almost transparent. The kind of people you don't notice if you meet them in the street. The kind of people that makes a crowd. An anymous face among others. But this anonymous face is known, softer than expected, and has vivid blue eyes and a very discreet haircut that yells "straight A's".

 

Connie is back on the driver's seat and watches her with apprehension. Connor notices that somehow she's still holding her hand.

 

"I'm sorry Ev, I didn't see you. Breathe, it's okay. One two three, hold. Four five six seven, expire. You're doing good, just follow my lead. One two three..."

 

Eva finally relaxes, taking deep breathes on her own and closes her eyes. After a moment, she finally looks up at Connie.

 

"I-I-I'm okay. I-I'm good. S-sorry, I was startled."

 

Even the way of talking is the same, with stutter and shyness and all. It gets on Connor's nerves. He rolls his eyes and says, before he could stop his running mouth :

 

"Get your shit together, Hansen, we didn't even touch you."

 

Connie punches him in the chest and he retreats with a painful "oof", but it's too late : Eva is already looking at him, wide-eyed, mouth dropping.

 

"C-Con ? There a-a-are two of you ? H-how..?"  
"Looong story," Connie huffs, retrieving her natural annoyed expression. "This is my evil twin Connor, he tried to kill himself, ended in my room and now we're trying to understand how the universe is working."  
"S-s-sounds like fun."

 

She's stuttering a lot and Connor wonders if he's the cause of that. He shrugs and forces himself to look by the window and not at Eva. The day is going to be long.


	3. Eva Rambles A Lot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil twin : An identical twin or unrelated person who has a similar appearance to a decent or moral person but who wreaks havoc or does evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGHKJDSJCJHSDJ IT'S PRETTY LONG ? I'M KIND OF HAPPY ABOUT HOW IT TURNED OUT ?
> 
> ( _For Forever Instrumental_ is a good music to listen while reading. Just saying.)

Connor is sitting under the tree of the art class yard. This part of the school had been deserted since a very long time because of the crappy electrical system and the leaking ceiling. Kids only went there to smoke or heavy petting sessions, but it's the middle of november and no one would catch a cold just to grope somebody. So Connor is fortunately alone. Not that it was a good thing per se, but at least nobody asks why Connie Murphy suddently changed outfit to sit in the abandonned part of the school. He shifts, wrapping the sweater around him. It's cold outside. He has nothing to do, just music to keep his mind busy. There are a lot of things going on right now, and not all of them are related to death. Well, a lot of them are, but not all. He mostly thinks about everything here is mixed up. He wonders if the teachers are genderbent too. It would be funny. Connie gave him her ipod before she entered the classroom, dragging her feet on the ground like it would stop her from having class. At least he has Led Zep and Fall Out Boy to keep him compagny. Not that he's gonna complain.

 

He's been waiting for two hours in the cold air. In the middle of Whole Lotta Love he realizes that he's starting to be restless. Connie asked him not to walk around when she isn't there, and he knows she's right. It doesn't stop him from being agitated, though. He switches, stands up, sits down then stands up again, takes a few steps around the tree and comes back to lean on it. He lifts his head, looking at the sky through the branches. It's surprisingly blue, a bright cold blue all over the place, clean from any cloud. The branches look like they own the sky, like it's their realm. Connor wonders how the world might look from up so high. The thought makes him shiver from dread and excitement at the same time. Slowly, he raises his arms and grabs the nearest branch. And suddently he's climbing, but he doesn't look down, never. He only watches where to put his hands and he only watches the sky, a little bit closer _but still so damn far_. He climbs, he doesn't care anymore to get caught by anyone, he only wants to reach the sky, and he knows it's stupid because the sky isn't something one can touch, but he tries all the same. A little bit higher, just a little bit higher, and once he's literally on top of the tree he reaches up. He waits, his fingers stretched towards the bright blue. He's not touching anything. Not the sky, not the few clouds. He's not even high enough to catch another air flow.

 

There is nothing else but his sorry ass up there. It's just him, sitting in a stupid tree. Just him, being ridiculous about grabbing the sky. He suddently realizes that he probably looks like a mad man, almost standing in balance on top of a dead tree, his hand above his head. He realizes that he doesn't know what he would have done if the sky was actually solid. Try to break it ? To pass through ? To pull it ? And then ? And then, what would he have done ? Connor doesn't know. He lowers his hand and sits on the branch. He is no believer. He doesn't know what's behind the big curtain of the sky, and somehow he's satisfied with the fact that he can't know that easily. So he climbs down, slowly, one branch after the other, one foot and then the other. Keeping his eyes wide open so he doesn't stumble. He doesn't let go. Breaking something is the last thing he needs right now. Once both his feet are on the ground, he tries to go back to music, but it's too late, he needs something else to focus on. So he makes his way to the insalubrious art class, lets his gaze travel on the broken tables and cubbies, frowns at the sight of moldy stuff scattered around. He grabs a bunch of pens that rolled under a chair. Finds a chalk next to the blackboard. Unpins a piece of relatively good paper from the wall. Cleans a rubber on his jeans. Takes a cardboard sleeve from behind the door. He walks back to the tree, lies down in the wet grass and starts to draw.

 

To be honest, Connor isn't _that_ good at drawing. He knows a bunch of things about anatomy. He never really had the patience to draw before. This is something that needs time, silence and retries. A lot of retries. Connor had never been the patient type, but now he has the time and the will to improve. He has nothing better to do, after all. He shifts the playlist he's listening to with one composed of instrumentals and lets his hand fly across the paper. He doesn't care if his back is soaked, he doesn't care if the wind tangles his hair and shuffles them in his face. He just blows them away and resumes his drawing.

 

Time flies when you're throwing clocks and that's exactly what happens a couple of hours after he started drawing. He looks up and manages to witness an actual clock crossing the air and landing on an innocent bush. He raises and eyebrow and sits up straight, dropping his work aside. He's pretty sure it came from Connie's classroom.

 

"Uh."

 

There is nothing more to say really. He should have known. He hopes she didn't try to hit someone with that clock. Maybe she tried but she missed, and that's why the clock is laying on a bush like a strange, broken hat. Then he realizes that Connie will probably be sent in the principal's office, which means that he will not see her at lunch. _Dammit._ It sucks to be them. He needs her. Needs to know he's not alone anymore. Connor is so sick of being alone, that's the problem in the first place. He never had anyone on his side, because nobody sides with the villain. Except another villain, maybe, like Connie. Suddently he doesn't feel like drawing anymore. There is anger boiling in his stomach and he has to take out. He hates the feeling of being completely dominated by his emotions. If he could, he would get rid of any feeling. Feelings suck. He takes two steps away from the tree, inhales deeply, exhales. He stays still for five seconds. At the moment he believes his short crisis is over, it just starts building up again, fast, terrifyingly fast. His fist flies towards the nearest thing, the tree's trunk, and breaks a piece of bark. Then again. And again and again and again and again and again and again again and again and again again and again. His knuckles are crumbled and he leaves red marks at every hit, but he doesn't care. He needs to take it out or he will implose. He doesn't want to implose anymore. It makes him feel miserable and again, feelings suck. Connor doesn't want to feel.

 

"U-uh C-Connor ? Why are y-you punching a t-tree ?"

 

Eva is here, her hands clinging onto her backpack's straps and rocking on her feet, like she's seriously considering the option to run away screaming. Connor continues his "steaming out session" but not without glaring at her.

 

"Fuck off Hansen, I'm not in the mood."

 

Eva picks at her cast, indecise. She finally stops her back-and-forth when Connor starts to pant and falls backward, right next to his stuff. She takes a few steps, pulls off her bag, gets out a box of bandages and waves it at him, an anxious interrogation plastered on her face. He doesn't respond, too busy to find his breath but reaches out for it anyway. He expects her to pass the box, but the small girl sits next to him, grabs his hand with her shaking ones and starts putting bandaid on every cut. They don't talk : there is nothing to say. Connor is glad his anger faded away before she showed up. He hates when he starts screaming on innocent people, or worse, beating them. Now that he thinks of it, didn't he shove Hansen against a locker at some point during their schooling ? He can't recall.

 

"O-okay, it's all patched u-up," Eva finally mutters, releasing Connor's hand. "... A-are you okay, though ?"

 

He snorts. Like he could ever be okay. But the question is genuine, and he's too tired to pretend like she isn't there.

 

"I've been worse. Thanks. For the bandages."  
"I-i-it's nothing, really !" she squeals, her ears turning bright red. "I-I-I always hurt myself with everything s-so I carry them around a-all the time. No-no problem."  
"How comes ?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

He's not really interested in having a conversation, but again : he's tired. His defenses are low. Give him some lack. She fidgets with the hem of her skirt, her eyes deliberately avoiding him. She looks stressed, but when doesn't she ?

 

"I-I'm v-very clumsy a-and I always end in s-stupid situations."  
"The Hansen, from where I come, broke his arm falling from a tree," he says before he could stop himself, gesturing at the cast, and Eva's blush darkens. "Are you talking about that kind of stupid situations ?"

 

Eva makes suddently eye contact. She's looking into him like she's trying to read him, to determinate what he knows. She says, slowly, calculating every word :

 

"I didn't break m-my arm from falling off a tree, a-actually. I-I kind of... Hum, I kind of landed on C-Connie ? I was okay but I startled her because I mean you don't expect people falling on y-you when you're sitting under a tree to smoke but. Anyway, she shoved m-me away and I-I hit a rock. Th-that's how I broke my arm. It's v-very stupid I'm sorry."  
"Well, that's the saddest thing I've ever heard," Connor answers blankly because _holy shit that's really fucking depressive_.  
"B-but in the end Connie t-took me to the hospital and we just. I-I think we bonded over it ? I-I don't know if she even c-consider me as a friend but," she shrugs. "W-we help each other. Getting b-better. Or a-at least we try."

 

There is a moment of complete silence during which they just pick at their own plasters, but then Eva is talking again.

 

"What about you ? D-did you shove your Hansen into a rock t-too ?"

 

Connor can't help but roll his eyes at the joking tone, but he can feel the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

 

"First of all he's not _my_ Hansen, don't ever say that again," he warns her, but without any actual fire in his words. "And second of all-"  
"Y-you can't 'second of all' a f-first of all," she mutters, and Connor is glaring at her again.  
"I will 'end of all' you if you don't shut your mouth. So no, I didn't shove him into a rock. I wasn't even there when he fell. I don't even knew him, really."  
"That's kind of sad... S-sorry, no speaking !" she rambles, picking harder at her cast.

 

It takes a moment before he answers.

 

"I realize that I didn't knew anyone back there. That's, in fact, kind of sad."

 

Eva's mouth is twitching when he looks at her, waiting for her reaction.

 

"Hum, I-I think that you're a nice person, Connor. I-I MEAN not that I k-know you, I barely know Connie herself b-but... H-how to put that ? I, uh, can feel t-that you're n-not. A bad person, I mean. You're kind and. I think it's sad that n-nobody noticed it. Yeah. God that sounded ch-cheesy right ? Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not used to this whole... "swap thing" yet and it's... Urgh, it's incredibly twisted but I-I. I wish I could say that to m-my Murphy. I-I mean Connie. I know she thinks she's a b-bad person so I guess you do, too ? Not that you have to be p-perfectly identical because u-ultimately you're two different persons but I- I'm not great either but I really want t-to help. S-sorry, I'm rambling again, aren't I ?"

 

And with that she hides her face behind her hands and tries to draw a shaky breath. Connor doesn't want to pity her, but at the moment she looks like a frightened kitty with a cast.

 

"Relax Hansen, I'm not gonna bite you. But I get it. Sometimes we would like to. Not be here. Not especially die, just... Not having to deal with the world. And sometimes, it's just too much, everything is too much and..."  
"... And it's not even like you're f-falling anymore. You just let go. I-I know how it feel."

 

It hits Connor. The way she says it, casually, but looking away, as if she's ashamed. She was falling, too. People say you have to hit rock bottom before you can crawl out. But people like them, like Connie, Connor and Eva, and probably Evan too now that he thinks of it, drown halfway. They aren't able to dive. They just let the cold in. They accept it. His eyes are wet. He dries them before Eva could catch his tears. He doesn't need her pity. He doesn't need pity anymore, not hers, not anyone's. That's it. He's done. No more letting go. He will try to reach the surface, even if it means feeling like shit at the bottom of the pool. Even if it means more suffering. If there is any hope for the future to get better, he'll take it. He will take anything at this point.

 

At some point Eva takes out a box from her bag, opens it and gives him a sandwich. He looks at her indecise, but she just shrugs timidely.

 

"I-it was for Connie, but she texted me about detention for 'flying clocks' and that she wouldn't eat with us. She said t-that she would eat yours instead. I-I hope you like cheese and ham..?"  
"Yeah. Thanks."

 

He chomps into the slightly crushed bread. His stomach rumbles of contentment. Okay, it's really been too long since he last ate. It's not much, really, but it's good. He thinks about the coffee this morning, and maybe he will wait until the next sandwich instead. It's in a little bit longer to wait. It's worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think ? He's all about trying, but will he really find his way to normality ?


	4. Connor And Connie Aren't Careful Enough.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melancholia (me-lən-ˈkō-lē-ə), n. : A mental condition characterized by great depression of spirits and gloomy forebodings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on tracks !!! Have some pessimistic Murphys !

Their system works for a week, a quiet, enjoyable week during which Connor eats more, sleeps better and keeps pushing forward. It's nothing near what a good therapist could do, but he tries and tries and tries again. He had two breakdowns, counting the one in the art class' court. The other one was following a panic attack, late at night, and Connie was here to ground him. It's a lot, but it's still less than what he's used to deal with daily.

 

It all goes downhill the moment he and Connie wake up late on saturday morning, after half a night spent high on Netflix. Larissa is hammering on the door with way more strengh and exasperation than necessary, making them both groan and hide under the pillows. After a few seconds, however, they must accept their unevitable defeat and roll (literally roll) out of the warm comforter, Connie vocally broadcasting her discomfort :

 

"I'm not fucking deaf, leave my door alone !"

 

Connor groans and pushes himself to the closet, letting Connie have the shower - they agreed to use the shower in turn, making Connie looking like an higyene maniac to someone who isn't them, but it's not like they care as long as they're both clean. As he distantly notices the sound of water in the bathroom, he pulls a clean shirt on his head with as much grace as a fish entangled in a net. It's only when he hears clicking footsteps behind him that he knows he's fucked.

 

"Connie, for the love of God, hurry up !" Larissa scolds him, looking like a war godess in her strict grey suit, impeccable hair bun and all powerful asshole-ness.

 

Connor freezes, half-buried in his T-shirt, his heart skipping a beat, his face thankfully hidden between hair and fabric, one eye only poking through the neckband. He wonders if his face goes pale, because it sure feels like it. He mumbles under his breath to give the change, mentally calculating how much time he needs to launch himself through the window. Fortunately, Larissa rolls her eyes and gets out, not without a last comment :

 

"And tie your hair, you look like a degenerate."

 

Then she disappears down the stairs, knocking at the bathroom door, asking Enzo to stop killing polar bears and get down. After a few seconds of silence, Enzo's head pokes through his own door while Connie opens the bathroom one, wrapped in a pink towel, and the three of them look at each other in incomprehension.

 

"What just happened ?" Connie finally asks.  
"She thought I was you and that Enzo was in there," Connor replies, drawing the siblings' attention on him.

 

Enzo visibly turns white and says with a high pitched voice :

 

"She... Did she saw you ?"  
"Yeah. Connie, come on, we gotta swap clothes."  
"Right. Zo, go damp your hair," his devil twin adds a moment after.  
"And why the heck would I want to help you ?" the smaller Murphy replies, crossing his arms on his chest, a defiant look on his face.  
"Because if you don't I beat the shit out of you," Connie simply threatens.  
"And then I'll beat you twice as hard," Connor adds, just for fun.

 

If Enzo was pale before, he's translucid now. He slams his door behind him shouting that they're freaking psychos and the two Cons snicker before walking back to their room. While she dries her hair, he strips from his shirt and puts on another one, less clean, but he's not in position to complain.

 

"What he fuck is happening, anyway ?"  
"Something about a family meeting at Aunt Jane's house. I don't know, I don't care, I just want to get rid of it as soon as possible. I'll try to annoy the shit out of them enough to be back by nine," Connie groans as she sits on the bed to slip into a pair of shredded leggings.  
"Urgh, good luck with that."  
"People have no idea how much work it is to be the emo AND gay cousin," Connie shakes her head, laughing, drawing a smile from him.  
"Want me to tie your hair ? It's the performance of your life, after all."  
"Right," she snorts. "Do your worst then."

 

Connor climbs on the bed next to her, armed with a brush and a bunch of hair ties and manages to braid her rebellious curls in a few minutes. He thrusts back on the sheets to admire his handwork.

 

"It definitely looks better when someone else does it."  
"It helps to have eyes in the back."

 

There is a moment of comfortable silence, until Connor's mind catches up with what just happened :

 

"Hey. What do we do if I actually get caught ?"

 

Connie seems to think about it for a moment, and then turns around to sit face to face :

 

"We run away. We change city, name, country, whatever. Larissa will not accept to have two disappointments in her own house."  
"Right," Connor rolls his eyes, even though he knows it's not completely unrealistic and that they're both able to just... leave everything. "And then what ? We get jobs, new identities ?"  
"Eheh, why not ? We could work in a library, or as postmen, or weed dealers, or garbage collectors ! Living among the trash, doesn't that sound fun to you ?"

 

They laugh in concert and Connie finally gets up to collect her messenger bag and earphones. Connor falls back on his pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

 

"What do you plan on doing, today ?" she asks while tying her shoelaces.  
"Probably go the orchad or library or something. Or back to sleep. I like sleep, it's like a mini-death."  
"Yeah, well death clearly doesn't look good on you," she replies automatically. "Okay, I'm ready to face the world."  
"Kill them all and set fire to the house," he proposes, only half-serious.  
"Will do," she replies.

 

Connie exits the room and shuts the door behind her. After a few seconds, Connor can hear screams coming from the siding and he smirks. Go get 'em, tiger.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The chill wind of late november dusts his cheeks with pink under his hoodie. The last leaves browning on their branches still hold on, like their lives depend on it (which is, truly, the whole point). The sky is dark and low with the promise of a storm as he walks without hurry to the library. He made a detour to the orchad, only to find the large gate closed by a bike chain. It would not be the first time that Connor picks a lock, but he really isn't in the mood for it and simply resumes his walk. So here he is, halfway between the mall and the pedestrian area, wondering if he has the time to walk to his destination before the rain drops or if he should start running right now.

 

There are a few persons in front of the mall, some of them looking suspiciously at the sky, others walking in and out, a handful of them sitting on the rare benches scattered on the sidewalk. Connor reconizes a few people - or, more accurately, puzzles out that this blonde girl with a top tank must be this dickhead of Paul Harris, or that the small guy with thick glasses and raspberry fuzzy hair must be Jenna Fox, a girl from the school's gardening club. And -oh, my - is that Alana Beck, he sees ? Well, a boying version of her, but still. Uh, he wears the male type pretty well...

 

Connor snorts and shakes his head, as if it would help him clear his mind, and moves forward. He quickly sees the library and rushes in just on time to not get caught by the rain. All this water drops on the glass panels in the ceiling, creating a soft but constant music. Connor unrolls his scarf and pushes back his hoodie as he walks dwn the hallways to the english litterature section. He grabs an old edition of Hamlet on his way then goes to the young adults to find his favorite book of all times : Mystic the cat.

 

It's an old book about a well-bred cat that leaves his house to grow up in the streets of a big city as the perfect stray cat. The scenario is simplistic and the character development limited, but because it was his very first book without pictures it has his place in his heart. Even if he would have to beat up anyone that see him with it. Not that anyone knows him in this reality, anyway. Connor curls up in a beanbag next to a window and starts his reading.

 

It's only when the librarian asks him to leave so he can close everything that he realizes the time passed quicker than he thought. It's a few minutes past six so there's no way the rest of the Murphys are back home, which means he has to stay out for a moment. He groans and decides to sit inside of the mall, or anywhere dry and warm really. He uses the five dollars he borrowed from Connie to buy a sandwich and sits in a corner, his earphones drowning the world all around. The whole universe is reduced to lettuce and turkey, Heather Chandler singing Candy Store in his ears and the slow raising and falling of his breath. Everything is fine. Could be better, sure, but it's not bad. He just... has to wait and go with the flow. Easy. Right. _...Right ?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Foreshadowing much ?


	5. Connor Maybe Just Wanted A Peptalk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings : Blood, scarification, suicidal thoughts. _You've been warned._

When he walks up to the house later that night, he instantly realizes that something's wrong. There is too much activity at Connie's window to be normal : lights and shadows are fighting frantically, moving as if they are alive. His heart in his throat, he silently climbs the roof, looking carefuly through the window as a loud slam of the door resonate in the entire neighbourhood. Seeing that the room is now empty, he discreetly gets in without flipping on the lights again and, like a bad quality ninja, cracks the door open.

 

In the landing, Cyrus is frenetically pulling the bathroom doorknob, while Larissa is shrieking incomprehensibly from the top of her lungs and Enzo is retreated safely in the staircase. Takes him a few seconds to understand that Connie is locked in the bathroom and is probably the one he hears screaming/sobbing through the walls. His blood freezes in his veins. _What the fuck happened while he was away ? Why is Connie crying ?_

 

"Connie, sweetheart, please open," Cyrus pleas, his forehead pressed against the door. " We just want to talk, there is no need to-"  
"Fuck off !" she screams as something breaks in there, probably a glass, Connor thinks.  
"Please Con, everything is fine, it's okay. Just get out so we can talk."  
"No !" is the only response he gets, unsurprisingly.

 

Larissa is now banging her fists on the door, her tone a little bit more hysterical than usual.

 

"Connie Elizabeth Murphy, get out of this bathroom this instant, or else...!"  
"Or what ?" Connie shouts, "You'll beat me up ? Too late, I'm already on it !"

 

That's the straw for Connor. He jumps on his feet and opens the door, uncaring for the surprised reactions he gets from the parents. Enzo, who still keeps his mouth shut, somewhat looks relieved that he appears. Ignoring the adults, he makes a beeline for the door and knocks twice.

 

"Connie, it's me. Let me in."

 

When the door doesn't immediately opens, he can't help but glance over his shoulder at the exact moment when Larissa makes a move to touch him - or grab him, from the claw-like shape her fingers take. A second before she reaches him, however, the door opens and he falls inside, hearing the door being locked up again in his back. As expected, Connie is a mess : her hair is sticking up, her eyes and cheeks are red from crying and her hands...

 

"Fuck, Connie, you're bleeding," he frowns as he grasps her shaky hands, inspecting her knuckles and palm and wrist, where large cuts are spilling red everywhere.

 

He then notices the big chunk of glass losely dangling from her other hand and he takes it before she can even react, throwing it in the trashbin. As she protests, he glares at her murderously and pushes her in the tub, joining her right after.

 

"G-get off me ! Connor, I swear if you don't get off me I'll fucking punch you !" she yells as she fights back, but she's so shaken that Connor barely winces when one of her hands hits him in the jaw.  
"Fucking do it then !" he suddently roars back. "Beat the crap out of me !! Punch me, kick me, fucking stab me if you have to but ! For God sake ! Don't ! Ever ! Do ! That !" he hammers as he shoves his thumbs deep into the open wounds, making her scream from pain. "Oh yeah, it hurts right ? Isn't that what you wanted ? Look at that, look ! You got what you wanted, didn't you ?!"  
"Leave me, leave me ! Shit, you're hurting me !! Connor let go of me !" she sobs, slumping forward in his arms, almost passing from the pain. "I didn't... I didn't... It was them..."

 

She sobs desperately, her fingers burried in his shirt as he finally lets go of her damaged arm to hug her.

 

"I know," he hushes, all traces of anger evaporated. "I know. It doesn't mean it's right to hurt yourself. It's never right to hurt yourself, God."

 

She shooks her head, her face now hidden in Connor's shoulder as he hugs her close.

 

"It hurts so bad," she eventually murmurs, out of breath from all the crying. "I don't want to hurt. Make it stop, please, make it stop, I just want to be okay again, I won't... I won't..."

 

The anxious lump in Connor's throat is back. He knows. Of course he knows. Scarification has been his only control over his body for a long, long time. It was the only way he had to deal with the reality when everything was just too much outside, but inside too. When he needed to get everything out of his system, somehow. Every time, it seemed like the only solution, the only way out. He wants to say that he understands, but the moment he opens his mouth is something else that comes out :

 

"It's not your fault. Connie. Connie, listen to me : it's not. Your fault."

 

As she looks up with her eyes full of tears, he knows it's exactly what she needs to hear. It is what _he_ needed to hear for years.

 

"You're not alone anymore. You're not alone because I'm with you in this fucking mess of a world. I'm not letting you. It's not your fault, okay. It's really not."

 

Her face contorts and she tries to suppress a sob, only to produce a weird, kitten-drowning-like sound. His grip on her is firm. He can't help himself out of this hellhole of a life, but he can save her from his mistakes. So no, he's not letting her down. Not today, not ever. Not when he's probably the only person right now to know exactly what's going on in her head.

 

"It's okay. Life sucks. It's not your fault if the world is a flying piece of crap. You're just part of it, it's not up to you to make things right."

 

It's not up to them to fix every mistake of Humanity. It's not up to them to bear the weight of the world. But, even if there is nothing left to save, they can still save themselves. Connor will make sure of it.

 

"I got you, okay ? When it's too much. Just. I don't know. Fight me or something. Hit the walls. Break things. Set fire to garbage. But don't let that anger eat you alive."  
"I'm so tired, Con," she replies weakly. "I just want to fall asleep and never get up."  
"Yeah, well death doesn't look good on you, so don't you fucking dare."  
"I'm... I'm sick of this. I'm sick of everything. Every time I try," she adds as her breath catches, "I only make things worse. I'm doing more bad than good. I'm a bad person."  
"Maybe," Connor admits after a second, "But it's what you're doing that count. Who cares if you're the bad guy when you help the hero, right ?"

 

Connie shakes her head as she leans back into sitting position, rubbing at her sore eyes.

 

"They don't light candles to remember the fallen villains. In the stories, we're the ones they forget as soon as they can."  
"I know. I know," he exhales as he gets up, searching for disinfectant and bandages. "Doesn't make our actions any less valuables, you know ?"  
"Connor, I-" she starts with a huff, looking up at him from the tub. "I don't know. Wouldn't it be easier to just... I don't know, let go ?"  
"I tried. Believe me, I tried," he mutters, closing his eyes for a second. "It doesn't work out, so we better find another option. An option that include us surviving, apparently."  
"What if I can't ?" she asks, but it isn't defiance in her voice, only concern. "What if I fall on the way and don't have the strengh to get up again ?"  
"I'll force you. I'll put you back on your feet and kick your ass until you walk on your own again."

 

He sits on the other side of the edge of the bathtub and requests to see her scarred wrist. It looks nasty, but the cut is actually not so deep : no need for stitches, at least. Once she's cleaned from the blood, he stays there for a second, his hand still on the bandage. Under his fingers, he can feel her pulse vibrating. Strong, fast, and deeply alive. And that, more than anything else, gives him a stupid, bold glimmer of hope.

 

"Death is not the solution," he says, and adds when he realizes how lame it sounded, "And I don't mean that the way these hypocrytical anti-suicide fliers mean it. I mean it physically. If anything, it makes things more complicated. We gott find another way to get through."  
"I just want it to stop hurting so much," Connie repeats, and it clicks in her double's brain that she's not talking about the cut, so he squeezes her hand gently.  
"I know. Me too."

 

They stay like this a while, in their weird bubble of silence and somewhat comfort. And maybe, maybe Connor hopes it could be always like that. Maybe he wishes all the thing he said to her, someone would have told them to him.

 

But if he does, he doesn't say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to do the best I could, from my own experience and imagination and from testimonies. If it doesn't reflect reality, please tell me. (Also I may have cried a little while projecting on them during this chapter. Whoops ?)
> 
> I've been listening to Cough Syrup while writing the chapter. The Glee version. You can thank my friend Gollum for her impeccable taste in sad music. Thanks girl.


	6. Discord Update !

Hello ! Quick update to share with you the Discord server I host and where there are a whole bunch of very nice people ! Come by whenever you feel like saying hello ! :)

Link [here](https://discord.gg/egaKgJZ) !


End file.
